Fairytale Love Stories
by LoveBugOC
Summary: Inside is a collection of one-shots based on popular fairytales featuring: Cinderella, Snow White & Beauty and the Beast. Purely Draco/Hermione relationships.
1. Cinderella

Hey all!

First, I would like to thank EVERYONE who has red, commented on, and acknowledged my stories! You guys are awesome, and every single one of you put a smile on my face :)

Second, I do intend to go through some of my old stories and clean up shop. Some people have mentioned adding a chapter or two to a couple of my other stories, so I want to have a look and see what I can do. I just don't know how long that will take, as I have lots and lots of school work, as well as lots and lots of new ideas running around my head! So please bear with me.

Now for the following story: This isn't exactly a story. It's a series of One-Shots that I have decided to group together based on the fact that they're all (sort of) centered around the same idea. I had a thought one day on taking the basic plot from a fairytale and applying it my precious Dramione coupling. Each 'shot is titled accordingly and is based around the main IDEA for the fairytale plot, so don't be surprised (or upset) if it isn't exactly like the tale. It isn't supposed to be.

That being said, I've finished and decided to post the three that I have written. I'm hoping to post more, so we'll have to see. Also, I've rated this as "T" for mature subject matter in later chapters.

Please enjoy, and sorry for rambling!

* * *

><p><strong>C<strong>**inderella**

Draco Malfoy wakes up to the sound of his heart beating in his ears and the feeling of his brain pulsing in his skull. He keeps his eyes close, determined to keep them that way for as long as possible. Rolling onto his back, he groans loudly and rubs his hands over his face tiredly. He squints, looking through the slits between his eyelids.

The darkness is a blessing to his burning eye sockets.

The quiet is a blessing to his aching head.

He groans loudly, crawling out of his bed to pad across the cold, hard floor, and into the bathroom. He splashes water over his face, mostly just to wake himself up, before knocking back a shot of his own brewed hangover potion.

In mere seconds, his head feels lighter and his eyes stop burning and the pounding in his brain dissipates.

He walks back into his bedroom and that's when he notices his clothes-all but his boxers-strewn about the room, leaving a trail from the door to his bed. Jacket, shirt, green and silver tie, dragon-hide shoes, trousers. He smirks, satisfied with the fact that he, quite obviously, had a good night last night. Even if he can't remember.

And then his smirk deepens upon seeing a flash of something silver sticking out from underneath his shirt. Collecting his clothing along the way, he picks his shirt up off the floor to reveal a lone, silver flat-those stylish muggle shoes which girls, even witches, seem to adore.

He spends the next five minutes inspecting his room for its other half, which is nowhere to be found. Unlike his clothes, which he tosses into a pile next to his trunk at the foot of his bed, he places the single flat neatly on top if the trunk.

Moments later, as he's in the midst of tucking a new, clean shirt into the top of his trousers, his door opens and his best friend walks in.

"You're awake," Blaise Zabini comments, smirking knowingly as he walks casually around the room.

"Hardly," Draco replies.

"So you had a good night then?"

"I would say so, not that I remember much."

"Well, from what I heard, I'd agree," the dark skinned wizard snickers.

Draco pauses in doing up his tie. "From what you _heard_? What did you hear?"

"Everything. Is that a shoe?" Blaise asks, smirking as he walks towards the trunk at the foot of his mate's bed.

"What, exactly, is everything?"

"Oh, you know...moans, groans, a few _screams_. And by few, I mean plenty-very vocal," the other wizard chuckles, holding the shoe out to tease his friend.

Draco smirks, snatching the shoe from him and placing it, instead, on his bedside table. "How'd she sound?"

"Like a fucking goddess. Does that shoe belong to her? Who was she?"

The blond glances at the show, pondering it, before looking back at his friend. "I have no idea. But I'm gonna find out."

X

"Please..."  
>"Pleasewhat?"<br>"D...Don't stop..."  
>"Don't plan onit darling."<br>"Faster... Har-DER..."  
>"Fuck..."<br>"Oh... Oh fuck, oh God..."  
>"Goddammit baby..."<br>"Draco..."

X

He smirks, gazing up at the poster he's just posted on the door to the Great Hall. He looks smug as he crosses his arms across his chest, thoroughly satisfied with his wand work.

"Missing A Single Silver Shoe?"

Underneath that are written instructions.

He's holding a...contest of sorts, to find the owner of the silver flat he found in his room this morning. Because, well, whoever the shoe belongs to is obviously the person he spent the night with. And whoever he spent the night with...well.

"Really?" Blaise asks, sliding up next to him. "This is how you plan on finding this mystery girl?"

"Got any better ideas?"

The dark skinned wizard opens his mouth to reply before closing it, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully, and then shaking his head.

"It was either this, or walking around the castle asking every girl if they've lost a silver shoe. This seems significantly less creepy and time consuming," Draco tells him.

"You think it'll work?"

The blonde smirks. "Have you _met_me? Of course it'll work."

X

Soft, luscious lips pressed to his rather chapped ones.  
>Silky, smooth hair wrapped around his fingers.<br>A shapely, curvy body grinding against his.  
>Long, slender legs wrapped tightly around his hips.<br>Calloused fingers exploring her body, pulling at her clothes.  
>Throaty moans and pleas.<br>Chests heaving.  
>Bump, grind, groan.<br>Soaring over the edge, falling and flying.  
>Heaven.<br>Hell.

X

He'd expected a large outcome of girls fawning over him, wanting him, presenting him with a single silver shoe, trying to convince him that they're the "special" girl he's looking for.

None of them are. For none of the shoes match. If they aren't the wrong foot, they're the wrong shade of silver or the wrong color all together. The wrong pattern.

He turns them away politely, despite the growing frustration inside him. Do these girls have nothing better to do than to waste his valuable time?

By the end of it, once he's reached and questioned the last girl with the wrong silver flat (he's honestly beginning to think they're just conjuring up random shoes now), he's exhausted. And there's a few girls, he notices, that hadn't approached him at all: Ginny Weasley, Lavender Brown, Luna Lovegood, and Hermione Granger.

"Are you sure it wasn't any of them?" Blaise asks him.

"Positive."

"Well, I mean, does it really matter?"

"Of course it does! I won't have some random, Blaise," Draco snaps, frustrated, tired and all together disappointed.

"If it isn't any of them, then, who is it?"

"There's just four possibilities, Blaise. And I plan on figuring out which one it was, even if it kills me."

X

First, he tries Ginny Weasley. It's a slim chance, he must admit, because she's going with Potter now. But it isn't impossible.

In fact, it's never stopped him before. Nor has it stopped the girl before.

Besides, it wouldn't be that bad. Sure, she's a Weasley. And sure, she's siblings with a certain Weasel he can't even stand the sight of. But she's bloody sexy.

Long, fiery red hair. Bright blue eyes. Fair skin. Ample bosom.

He finds her in the courtyard, lying on her stomach in the grass as she flips through Teen Witch Weekly. Smirking to himself, he makes his way over. "Ginny," he greets her, standing next her. His shadow covers the open pages of her magazine.

"You're blocking my light, Malfoy."

"My apologies," he replies kindly, stepping to the side. "Can I have a word?"

She peers up at him, squinting in the sunlight. "Just one?"

"Are you missing a silver flat?"

She raises her eyebrows knowingly. "No. And even if I did, I'm not your girl."

"Right. Well, good."

X

He tries Lavender next, who informs him that she's been seeing the Weasel-which is just too much information. In fact, to add to her decline, she's wearing her pair of silver flats.

He then tries Luna, who, in short, is not his girl. She owns a pair of silver converse shoes, but not flats.

She also thinks Nargles are floating around in his head.

Which means there's only one possibility left: Hermione Granger. And oddly enough, the thought isn't as terrifying as it probably should be.

X

He corners her in the library. Isn't she always in the library?

She's sitting at her usual table near the back of the room, close to the Restricted Section. And like usual, she's got her bushy head (although, her curls have softened over the last six years) buried between the pages of some book or another-quite frankly he doesn't care enough to look at the title. She's wearing her uniform; her cloak hanging over the back of her chair, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up to her elbows, the first three buttons undone and her tie loosened, giving him a rather pleasant peak at her cleavage. Her legs are crossed underneath the table, causing her skirt to ride up, barely covering her arse.

He finds himself wondering what she feels like. If she feels the way he, very vaguely, remembers...

He saunters towards the table, her lone silver shoe in his left hand and his right buried in his pocket. He places the show in the desk in front of her, smirking as he waits for her to look up.

She looks at the shoe for a brief second before casting her gaze towards his. "What's this?"

"I believe it belongs to you. I found it my bedroom the other day," he replies, smirking smugly down at her.

She blinks, and then looks back down at her book. She avoids liking at the shoe all together. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I believe you do."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

She sighs softly, folding her arms across the table as she looks up at him. She avoid the shoe. "And why would I? More importantly, if it were mine, why would it be in your bedroom?"

He considers her for a moment, folding his arms over his chest. He takes in her expression, the look on her face, her posture. She has a pretty good poker face, he must admit. But her eyes betray her-and not just because he remembers them, clear as day. He smirks, placing his hands flat on the table as he leans down so that his face is level with hers, and only a few inches away. "Because you, Granger, were in my room."

"In your dreams."

"Well, perhaps-but that's an entirely different matter."

She rolls her eyes, turning her attention back to her book.

His smirk deepens as he grabs the chair next to her, pulls it out so that it's facing her, and sits down. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "Here's what I think happened. Ready?"

"I don't-"

"I think that we both got a little too drunk the other night. I think we probably started flirting before I managed to talk you into coming back to the dungeons with me. I think we shagged like rabbits, because let's face it, you can cut the sexual tension between us with a knife. And I think that you were so, incredibly embarrassed by the fact that you found me so utterly desirable that you left before you had to face me-and in your haste to leave, you forgot your shoe."

"Are you done?"

"No. You're one of the only girls who didn't show up with some sort of silver shoe, hoping that you'd be the one-and I've managed to eliminate the other three. So unless you have some legitimate reason as to why it doesn't belong to you, _you're_my girl."

She looks up, staring straight ahead at the book case in front of her before turning her head to look at him. "And if I am?"

"Do you admit it?"

"Do you want me to?"

He stares at her for a moment before leaning in even closer. His nose nearly grazes hers. "What if I do?"

She blinks, clearly taken aback, before she turns away and begins to pack her books into her bag. "Look, it was nothing, okay? Just a one-night shag. I'll just..." she trails off, pushing herself to her feet and grabbing the straps of her back. "Thanks for my shoe-"

"Wait, Granger," he calls after her as she turns to leave, grabbing her wrist rather quickly. She looks at him, clearly puzzled. "Why did you leave? Why didn't you come forward?" he asks softly, hesitantly. He's nervous. He hadn't thought this far ahead.

"I just...I didn't think you would care," she admits. "I knew you would regret it, once you saw me, so I thought if I left then we wouldn't ever have to speak of it again. I just didn't realize I'd left my shoe behind until I was already in my room."

"Do _you_regret it?" he wonders curiously, with baited breath. He isn't sure why he cares to know, he just...does.

"I don't know," she whispers truthfully. "I don't really remember much."

He smirks softly at the blush gracing her cheeks as she looks down at the floor. She really does look rather beautiful. Stunning, really.

"I should go," she whispers, turning to leave.

Before she turns around completely, he grabs her by the shoulders, pushes her up against the nearest book case and kisses her. His lips cover hers firmly, passionately, lustfully. His hands are in her hair, twirling and tugging softly. Her hands are on his waist, pulling him closer ad clutching his shirt at his hips.

He doesn't particularly know what he's doing.

But then, he doesn't particularly care.

He's found his girl.


	2. Snow White

**Snow White**

X

Astoria Greengrass recognizes the look in her boyfriend's eye. Recognizes the grin that graces his lips. Sees the way his hand falls to the small of _her_ back when they walk into the muggle coffee shop, or into their living room. Sees the way he treats _her_, hears the way he talks to _her_. 

She recognizes the signs, for it's the way he used to look at her. It's the way he used to smile at her and speak to her and treat her. Like she was gold. Like she was the single most important person in his life.  
>She recognizes his behaviour. The difference between the way he treats <em>her<em>, and the way he treats his other female friends and co-workers. The distance he places between them whenever _she's_ around.

The _lack_ of distance when he's with _her_. 

Astoria Greengrass is not stupid. She sees everything. She knows. 

She knows that her boyfriend is in love. And she knows that he is not in love with her.

X

"What do you think of her? Granger?" she asks her best friend, Pansy Parkinson. 

"You mean besides the fact that she's pretty-well-perfect? I dunno...I mean she's sort of beautiful. And she's nice-like really nice. Almost too nice. And kinda funny, too." 

Scowl. 

"You don't think so?" 

"I mean, she's okay, I guess." 

"Why do you ask?" 

"No reason." 

"Draco really seems to like her, which is kind of weird. But they work well together, don't you think?" 

"Mhmmm. She's just a regular little princess, isn't she?" 

"Do I detect some jealousy?" 

"No, of course not."

X

Hermione Granger is in the middle of doing the dishes in her kitchen when she hears a soft knock at her front door. She dries her hands on a towel next to the sink before walking towards the door and opening it. She blinks, surprised to see who her visitor is, but smiles nonetheless. "Hi, Astoria," she greets politely. 

"Hey, Hermione," the other witch replies, smiling back. "I was just in the neighbourhood and I thought I'd stop by. I brought a little house warming gift too," she says, holding up a basket of freshly picked fruit. 

Hermione looks at the basket strangely, but steps aside anyway. "I moved in four months ago. You already got me a gift-" 

"Oh but that was so last year," Astoria says, brushing off the Gryffindor's comment. "Besides, I've got plenty of fruit anyway. And the apples are to _die_ for." 

Hermione smiles kindly, taking the basket from her. "Thank you." 

"I like what you've done with the place," Astoria comments, looking around small living room. "It's very cozy and...cute." 

"Thanks," Hermione laughs softly. "I realize it's a bit small, but-" 

"No, it's perfect. I mean, you're the only one living here, so it's not like you need a large living space," Astoria points out innocently. 

Hermione looks at her for a moment, sort of stunned. And then she smirks. "Right. Well, it's only temporary." 

"Well, anyhow, I love it." 

"Would you like something to drink? Some tea, perhaps?" the brunette offers kindly. 

"I can't, actually. Draco and I have lunch plans," Astoria replies, walking back towards the door. She pulls it open, smiling politely. "I'll tell him you said hi. Oh, and don't forget the apples, they're delicious. Toodles!" she says cheerily, turning to leave. Her smile forms into a broad, almost evil smirk as she walks down the hall.

X

Draco Malfoy, in the middle of a very important business meeting for his father's company, Malfoy Inc., groans in annoyance when he sees his girlfriend walk into the boardroom. He ignores the curious glances and almost wolfish leers from his employees, rolling his eyes as she struts towards him, clearly enjoying the male attention. 

"Hi honey, ready for lunch?" she asks, running her fingers across the back of his shoulders. 

"I'm in the middle of meeting, Astoria. I told you it could take all day," he replies, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Well, I know. But surely you can take a little break," she responds innocently. 

"I can't. You know that." 

"Draco-" 

"Astoria, I can't. I need you to leave. Please." He looks at her sternly. 

As if on cue his secretary walks in, followed closely by one of the redheaded Weasleys-Ronald, to be exact. 

"Mr. Malfoy, sir," the secretary starts- 

"-I thought I said no visitors," Draco snaps. 

"Sir, it's an emergency." 

Without even looking up, Draco leans forward with his head in his hands in utter frustration. "Weasel, I swear to Merlin, if this is some kind of-" 

"Hermione's in St. Mungo's," Rob replies, interrupting his quickly. His voice is strained, sort of alarming. 

Draco's gaze snaps up to look at the redhead, grey colliding with blue. "W-what? Is she okay?" 

"She's been poisoned." 

Draco blinks, falling back into the back of his chair, looking dejected and worried. Scared. He licks his lips, tossing his paper work into his briefcase as he jumps to his feet urgently. "The meeting will be moved to a later date. I will be out of the office until further notice," he mutters, following Ron to the closest Floo network. 

Astoria looks on in disbelief as the rest of her boyfriend's employees pack up their things as well.

X

Astoria hovers in the doorway, watching silently from the back of room as everyone-Mr. and Mrs. Granger, eight Weasleys (Charlie is off on some sort of dragon expedition), Harry Potter, and Draco-gathers around Hermione Granger's hospital bed. Her skin is pale, sickly-looking. Fragile. She looks like death has just breathed all over her, waiting patiently to make her his. 

Mr. and Mrs. Granger looks devastated; her mother sits in the chair on the right side of the bed, clutching her daughter's hand between both of hers, while her father stands behind his wife, squeezing her shoulders. 

The Weasley's, along with Potter, look distraught, worried. Lost. Stunned. 

And Draco... Oh, Draco. She can't recall a time when he's ever looked so utterly dreadful. His hair is a mess, having pushed his hands through it countless times since he arrived. His skin, too, is pale. His hands are shaking, and every now and then he clutches his stomach like he's going to be sick. 

And truthfully, she's beginning to feel increasingly guilty. 

Her gaze doesn't leave her boyfriend's grief stricken face, just as his doesn't leave the woman in the bed.  
>Everyone, and everything, is quiet in the room except for the constant ticking of the clock in the corner of the room. And then, finally, someone speaks, and she isn't at all surprised to hear Draco's voice, strained and quiet. <p>

"The healer should be back by now," he mutters. 

Everyone agrees, silently. 

As if on cue, the healer walks in. She's a middle-aged witch, with thin grey-ing hair, and a petite figure. She's carrying what look like a chart in her left hand and ratty-looking quill in the other. 

Everyone stands at attention, including Draco, who stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets nervously. They're stiff with anticipation. Nobody, not even a single Weasley, dares to utter a word. 

"It's true, Miss. Granger has been poisoned." 

Mrs. Granger lets out a strangled sob. A few gasps and cries escape the others. 

"The origin of the poison is unknown at this time, but we've sent it down to our potions labs for analysis. Until we know what it is and where it came from, we cannot treat it," the healer informs them. 

"S-so..." Mrs. Granger's voice is shaky and strained, almost inaudible. She chokes on a sob, so Mr Granger finishes her thought. 

"So what happens now?" 

"We've given her a potion that will take away any pain she might be feeling. It should also slow the effects of the poison, which will prolong the final outcome." 

"What's the final outcome?" Harry wonders. 

"We cannot know that until we know the poison." 

"And what if it doesn't?" Draco asks vaguely, tearing his gaze away from the woman in question for the first time. "What if it doesn't take away her pain? What if doesn't prolong anything?" 

"It's the only way we can handle this until we know-" 

"And what if, by then, it's too late? What if this poison does more that you _think_ it's doing?" 

"Unfortunately, Mr. Malfoy, there's only one way to tell," she replies compassionately. 

"What if that isn't good enough?" 

"Draco," Astoria whispers softly as she steps towards him, reaching for his shoulder. She's taken aback when he shrugs her off roughly. 

"Mr. Malfoy, there's only so much we can do. We're doing our best-in fact I've put a rush on the sample I sent to the lab. I'm hoping I'll have the results in the next couple of days."

X

Three days later, the results come back. The poison isn't really a poison at all. Just a potion with lethal consequences – meaning that had the potion been administered properly, with the right amounts, it would've acted as a simple sleeping draught. However, Hermione had taken in so much of the potion that it has polluted her body-rendering her unconscious for an uncontrolled amount of time. Instead of merely putting her to sleep, the potion has caused her body to shut down, becoming immobile.

_Paralyzed_. 

The origin of the potion is still unknown. (To all but one.) They're beginning to compare it to Dark Magic.  
>The healers have begun to treat her with potions meant to reverse the effects of a sleeping potion. They remain optimistic (if only for her friend's and family's sake), however they've warned everyone that it might take a number of days (maybe weeks), for Hermione to fully recover. (If she recovers at all.)<p>

X

"Perhaps we should start making plans." 

Draco looks up from dark liquid of his firewhiskey, looking directly into the green eyes of Potter, himself.

A few of the Weasley's-Ron, Ginny and George-have joined them at the Leaky Cauldron for drinks. Everyone's been so tense lately, that Ron suggested getting drinks to "loosen up" a bit. Draco's beginning to have second thoughts for this plan. 

"Plans for what?" he asks, although he fears that he already knows the answer. 

"In the case that she doesn't recover," the dark haired wizard replies softly. 

Draco's eyebrows furrow in confusion and surprise. His gaze narrows incredulously. "Are you mad, Potter?" 

"It's a possibility-" 

"The healers have to begin to treat her properly, it's only a matter of time-" 

"What if it isn't?" Harry challenges half-heartedly. "What if it doesn't work?" 

"Then we'll figure some other way." 

"What if there isn't some other way?" 

Draco's gaze hardens. "There's gonna be another way." 

"Look, Malfoy, all I'm saying is-" 

Draco shakes his head, pounding back the last of the liquid in his glass as he pushes himself to his feet. "You can give up all you want, Potter. But I won't."

X

The healing potions haven't been working. Hermione hasn't gotten any better, which has put everyone-her parents, and, it seems, Draco, especially-on edge. 

Once more, everyone has gathered in her hospital room, anticipating the news the healer would bring. The news she brings is full of "nothing is working" and "there's nothing more we can do". 

"If she doesn't start to get better, I'm afraid we'll have to look at other options," the healer tells them.  
>Mrs. Granger lets out a sob. <p>

Mr. Granger takes a deep breath. 

Everyone else, except Draco, is too shocked to react. 

"No," Draco replies firmly. "That's unacceptable." 

"Mr. Malfoy-" 

"You lot are _healers_," he snaps, his gaze narrowing at the older woman. "You're meant to _save_ her. You're meant to do everything in your power-not give up!" 

"We've done everything that can be done." 

He goes to protest, about to lung forward, when Harry grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him back. He struggles at first, but by the other man's calming words, he settles. Defeated. 

"I'll let you have a few moment alone," the healer says softly, smiling sadly at them before leaving. 

Nobody knows what to do. What to say. It's like everyone is paralyzed. 

Draco is the first-the only-to move forward. All sense-of-self is gone as he takes her small, frail hand in his, running his thumb over her soft, clammy skin. "C'mon, Granger," he whispers, leaning down to rest his elbows on the half-rail on her bed. "Wake up. Please?" he begs. 

He pays no attention to the others in the room, ignoring the tears rolling down his cheeks and the fact that it feels like his stomach is about to hit the floor. "Luv, please wake up," he murmurs. "We need you. _I_ need you." Suddenly it's like a river flowing, the words leaving his mouth before he can push them back. "You can't leave me. I can't...I dunno what I would do without you-how I would live. I need you to live, Granger. Please?" That last, desperate plea is but a whisper hardly loud enough to hear. 

He leans forward, cupping her face with his left hand and tilting her face, just slightly. "Please," he breathes against, pressing his forehead against hers. And then his lips, thin and warm, are against hers, cold and chapped. His eyes are closed and he holds his breath, just savouring the moment. 

She doesn't kiss him back. 

He pulls back, pulling his left hand away from her face to wipe his cheeks. 

And then he hears, what he'll find, is the most glorious sound in the world. 

A gasp. A desperate breath of fresh air. 

He blinks, pulling back to look at her. 

Her wide, brown eyes full of fear and confusion, searching the room anxiously. 

And nothing else matters. 

She is alive. 

Mrs. Granger jumps towards her daughter, sobbing and hugging her. 

Mr. Granger yells for the healer. 

The Weasley's breath sighs of relief and content, smiling happily. 

Draco stands back, watching. 

And then she looks at him and smiles, her eyes shining with tears. 

[He doesn't notice Astoria slipping out the door, past the Weasley's and the healer.]

X

Hatred had made the potion. 

Hatred had nearly killed her. 

Love had brought her back to life.


	3. Beauty and the Beast

**Beauty and the Beast**

She's fucked. Absolutely, positively fucked. 

Her palms are sweating. 

Her heart is pounding so hard in her chest that she can hear in her ears. 

Her stomach twists and turns. 

She doesn't know if she's ever been so completely terrified. 

Here she is, kneeling before the cruelest, darkest wizard of all time. Her shoes are worn, her jeans are ripped and muddy, her shirt is torn and disgusting, her skin is dirty and dry and her hair hasn't been washed in days. Voldemort compares her physical state to her "muddy" bloodline. 

She doesn't say a word as he taunts her. She stares at the ground, her wrists clasped behind her back, refusing to look up as the Death Eaters surrounding her speak of all the things they'd like to do her. She struggles to keep the images out of her head and the bile in her stomach. 

"Draco," he calls. 

Her gaze snaps up, colliding with the platinum blond hair of the boy-man in question. He looks at her blankly, stepping forward before looking towards his Lord. He's wearing Death Eater robes, his mask in his left hand and his wand in his other. He looks just as she remembers. Only older. Colder. Darker. 

"I want you to have the Mudblood. You have my permission to take her, and do with her what you please," the snake hisses. 

"My Lord?" Draco asks. His voice is deep, rough. Different from how she remembers it, and yet the same. 

"Consider her your birthday present." 

That is all he says before disapparating. The other Death Eaters also disapparate, grumbling and sneering, disappointed that they can't have her. 

A part of her is relieved. 

But a part of her also knows that nobody (except maybe Voldemort) hates her more than Malfoy. 

He yanks her to her feet by the hood of her sweater and begins to drag her through the Manor. She stumbles after him, her legs too week and her mind too disoriented. No words are spoken as he pulls her up a flight of stairs and through dark, empty corridors. 

He opens a door at the end of a very long hallway and shoves her inside. She falls to her knees on the ground, her hands bracing her just before her head hits the hardwood floor. She hears the door slam, hears him utter a spell to lock the door, before she feels herself being pulled up by her hood and thrown onto the bed. [His bed is surprisingly soft.] 

She moves as far away from him as possible, kneeling on the bed with her back against the headboard. She forces herself to be brave, to look at him. 

He smirks, folding his arms over his chest smugly. Satisfied. "Bet you didn't think you'd ever end up here, huh Granger? On your knees, on my bed. At my mercy." 

"Don't flatter yourself," she snaps back, more out of habit than anything. 

"Oh, so you do still speak? I liked it better when your mouth was shut and you were taking orders." 

She glares at him. 

He laughs tauntingly. "Granger, Granger, Granger. You seem to forget who's in charge here. Forgotten who I am?" 

"On the contrary, Malfoy. You're a vile, loathsome, evil, sadistic little serpent," she spits. 

"Oh? Is that all?" he asks sarcastically. 

"You're a monster." 

He rolls his eyes pointedly. "If I was a monster, Granger, you wouldn't even be talking right now. I'd be doing to you, what the others would _kill_ to do." 

"What are you waiting for then?" she taunts. 

He smirks, but otherwise says nothing. He merely turns around and walks to his closet. 

"C'mon Malfoy, you know you want to. You've been fantasizing about destroying me for _years_. You've probably figured out a thousand different ways by now." 

He laughs dryly. "You have no idea." 

"Then what are you waiting for?" she asks again. She's trying to gain information. She's trying to figure out his plans. 

He turns to her, sadistically slow. "I know what you're trying to do. I also know that you've put on your brave face because you're fucking terrified inside. Why would I tell you my plan when it's just so _fun_ to watch you scramble, huh Granger?" he taunts. "Besides, I don't fuck the filthy. I, unlike those disgusting men, have much higher standards." 

"Fuck you," she whispers, because quite frankly she can't find the rest of her voice. 

He smirks, leaning in so that his face just centimeters from her own. He grabs her face roughly in his right hand, holding it firmly in place, the tips of his fingers digging into her cheeks. "Make no mistake, Granger. I could destroy you-worse than any of them-if I wanted to."

X

The sound of the door opening startles her. Her heart beat quickens, her eyes widen in anticipation and she sits up stiffly. She can never tell who will be walking in, but it's always Malfoy. Always. 

He's wearing black dress robes-the kind he always wears, even when he's just sitting on his bed. She reckons it has something to do with control as well as image. 

He kicks the door closed with his foot, and that's when she notices the tray in his hands. He walks towards the makeshift bed he'd summoned her in the corner of the room-which is really just a ruddy old mattress on the floor. She looks up as he stops at the edge of the mattress. He holds the tray out to her. 

She looks at it wearily. 

When she doesn't reach for it he becomes impatient. He sighs loudly. "I don't have all day, Granger," he snaps, pushing it closer to her. 

She takes it from him hesitantly, staring at the food skeptically. It's the same meal he always brings her-two pieces of bread, an apple and glass of water. 

"It's no different than any other day, Granger. Besides, if I wanted to poison you I would've done it already," he points out. "And if I was trying to kill you I wouldn't try to poison you." 

She sets the tray aside; she isn't even all that hungry. She hasn't been hungry for days. 

He rolls his eyes, turning away from her. "Look, I could really care less whether or not you eat. If you want to starve to death then fine, that means I won't have to deal with you much longer." 

"I'm going to die anyway, so what's the difference?" she asks rhetorically. Truthfully, she just wants to know why he continues to feed her. 

He seems to consider that for a moment before his lips turn into an evil-like smirk. "True." 

He turns to leave once more, leaving her alone in the dark, empty bedroom. She leans back against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest while the tray sits forgotten on the edge of the mattress at her feet.

X

She has a plan. 

When she hears his footsteps-she knows they're his because they're slow and purposeful-getting closer to the outside of the bedroom, she tip toes across the room to stand beside the door. She raises her arms above her head, which are bound together by magic, while holding her usual silver meal try in her small, nimble hands. Her entire body is weak from lack of nourishment (and life), but all she has to disarm him and then run as fast as she can to get out of the Manor. Once she's out of the Manor she should be able to find a disapparation point. 

The lock in the door makes a loud click, which makes her heart race. The door opens slowly and in one quick movement, as he walks into the room, she hits him on the back of the head with the tray. 

She doesn't stay long enough to see what happened, or to see his reaction. Instead she runs. And run.

[She has no idea where she's going.] 

Suddenly an arm grabs her around the waist and she can't help the scream that leaves her throat as her capturer slams her chest violently against the wall. The assailant's free hand clasps over her mouth, pulling her head back roughly as he drags her back the way she came. 

She flails, kicking and attempting to scream. He's stronger and bigger than her. He's more strategic and fluent. 

Suddenly she's right back where she started. 

He throws her on the bed as she continues the flail, and struggled to roll her onto her back before climbing on top of her. She can hear his voice, hoarse and deep, muttering things like "stupid" and "Mudblood" and "death wish" and "I should just kill you myself." All the while, he uses his legs to pin hers to his plush mattress and his hands to pin her arms above her head. 

"Do it then!" she yells suddenly, surprising even herself. "Kill me! Do it!" 

"You're fucking crazy, Granger," he growls at her. 

"What's wrong, Malfoy? Can't kill a person who's literally asking for it?" she taunts, glaring up at him through her eyelashes. "Unless, maybe you enjoy my company. Is that it? Or are you just that much of a sadistic bastard that you get off of keeping me hostage." 

"I get off on a lot of things, Granger. But _you_ are not one of them," he sneers. 

"Then kill me," she replies simply. "Or do you not have the balls?" 

He smirks, staring down at her intently. "Believe what you will, Granger. But right now, right here is the safest place you can be." 

"Right. In a manor full of sadistic death eaters," she replies sarcastically. 

"Think about it Granger, I'm the only one who is allowed in this room. And I haven't done anything to you." 

"My hero." 

"They would tear you apart the second they got their hands on you," he mutters threateningly, giving her arms a rough little nudge as he pushes himself to his feet. "Remember that."

X

He catches her off guard when he rushes into the room one day, slamming the door shut behind him.

She watches him from the spot on her mattress as he stands there, stiff, looking dazed and disoriented. She looks him up and down-and only then does she realize that he's covered in blood. 

His blond hair has red and brown streaks-blood and mud. His cheeks are covered in little red dots and his hands are saturated in it. His black robes seem somehow darker and the blood on his shoes is shining over the expensive leather. 

She wonders if it's his. She fears that it is not. [She knows that it is not.] 

Not knowing what else to do, she stands up cautiously as he struggles to get out of his cloak while at the same time walking across the room to the bathroom. Her arms are still bound in front of her as she steps, hesitantly, off the mattress. She wants to ask him if he's okay-although the response to that seems quite obvious. She can't even find her voice. 

He slams the door shut behind him, the noise startling her, and almost immediately she hears the shower running. [She thinks she might even hear him sobbing.]

X

He brings her a book. 

She's surprised when it bends down to her level as she sits upon her mattress, extending the hard-cover book to her. She can't see the title, but at this point it doesn't even matter. Looking at him with wondrous, wide eyes, she hesitates. 

"Take it," he urges quietly. 

She does as she's told, reaching her thin, slender hands out. The second her fingers wrap around the spine of the book, she gasps on a breath. She's since forgotten what a book feels like, what literature looks and sounds like. It was her safe haven, once. Could it be that he, Draco Malfoy, is giving her a bit of that back? 

"Why?" she asks softly. 

He shrugs, wordlessly taking her wrists (gently) in his hands. 

She watches him as he pulls his wand out of cloak pocket and touches it softly to her wrists. She gasps again as she feels the invisible bindings disappear. Her eyes are wide and confused as she drops the book in her lap to rub each wrist with her hands. "Thanks," she croaks, her voice breaking on the verge of tears. 

He merely nods, pushing himself abruptly to his feet. "Just let me know when you finish that book and I'll get you another," he tells her softly. 

She nods in response.

X

She's reading, lying on her back on her mattress, when he comes quickly into the room. [She doesn't know what he does when he isn't here-but then, she supposes she probably doesn't want to know.] The door shuts the door carefully behind him before rushing towards her. He crouches next to her, grabbing the book from her before he tosses under his own bed. 

She looks at him questioning as he grabs her hands and pulls her to her feet. "I need you to do something for me." 

"What?" she asks curiously, her worried brown eyes searching his frantic grey ones. 

"Act like I've been beating you," he begs. "He's coming to check on you, to see what I've been doing to you. I'm going to charm your skin with bruises to make it more believable-" 

"Won't he be able to tell the difference?" 

He shakes his head, pointing his wand to her face as he mutters a string of spells. She watches him, listening to the softness of his voice. "I need you to undress." 

She obeys, unzipping her sweater and letting it fall onto the mattress before peeling off the rest of her clothes and standing before him in her bra and knickers as he moves his wand across her body. Black and blue bruises appear on her skin. He then gathers her clothing and shoves them under his bed. When he's done he looks at her and brushes the back of his knuckles over her cheek gently, tenderly. 

"Ready for the greatest performance of your life?" he asks softly, smiling weakly. 

"You should break my arm," she tells him suddenly. 

"What?" he asks, looking shocked and confused. 

She shrugs. "It'll make it more believable." 

He blinks, incredulously. "That'll hurt-" 

"So?" 

He looks reluctant as he moves across the room to his bed. He grabs his shirt, rolling it up as he walks back and stands in front of her. She nods silently, allowing him to push the fabric into her mouth. Closing her eyes, she braces herself for the break. Her scream of agony is muffled by the shirt in her mouth and she squeezes her eyes tighter. She feels his fingers brushing away her tears as he presses his forehead against hers, and feels his breath on her face as whispers his apologies. 

Upon hearing footsteps outside the door, Draco grabs the shirt from her mouth and moves away from her. 

Hermione braces herself, but for what, she isn't quite sure. 

Voldemort comes in along with both elder Malfoys. The snake laughs darkly at her, his eyes traveling up and down her body. He looks satisfied. 

She's never felt more filthy. 

Draco begins ordering her around. "Straighten up while you're in the Dark Lord's presence, you filthy Mudblood," he spits. 

"Stop being so bloody pathetic." 

"You're nothing but a _whore_, Granger." 

She cowers away from him-almost believing him. 

At one point her snarls at her, grabbing her face in his right hand roughly, forcing her to look at him. "Who's your master? Hmm? Who owns you?" 

"You," she whispers. 

"I'm sorry. Who?" he demands harshly. It's his eyes, so close and open to hers, that show otherwise. 

She clears her throat, "you." 

"Good girl," he smirks, stepping back. 

Voldemort seems to approve, nodding graciously as he claps Draco on the back. "Keep up the good work, Draco." 

The second Voldemort and the Malfoys leave the room, her legs give way as she begins to sob. She expects to feel her knees hit the hardwood floor with a loud crack, but nothing happens. Instead, she feels Draco's firm, strong arms wrap around her middle, holding her as she crumbles. 

"It's okay," he whispers. "You're okay."

X

She's reading silently, curled in the comfort of his bed when he stumbles into the room. She looks up, her eyes widening in shock as his current state as he pushes the door closed behind him and leans against it. 

He's covered in blood again. It's in his hair, on his skin, soaking into his robes. He looks distraught as he desperately tries to rid himself of his robes, grunting and muttering curses. 

She closes her book, rushing towards him to help him. Her own hands and clothes are getting bloody as she pulls his clothing off him. He's breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating, and he's rough in his movements-his desperation. 

He stands before her in his boxers, the only piece of clothing that isn't covered in blood. His dark grey eyes are haunted, horrified at whatever he's just been a part of. His entire body is shaking like a leaf, and not from the cold. He looks at her like he's silently pleading for her to make it all go away. 

She takes his right hand in her left and pulls him towards the bathroom slowly. Once inside she turns on the water in the shower, removes his boxers and helps him inside. He doesn't move. Instead he stands there, allowing the warm water to beat against his chest, his eyes closed. She peels off her own clothing, leaving them on the floor as she opens the glass door and joins him, standing behind him. They are both naked, vulnerable-him more than her-and yet none of that matters. 

She helps him wash, rubbing a cloth over his pale, raw skin. The water that pools around their feet is red, as it washes off the blood, and he is mesmerized by it. She is gentle, as she washes him. Rubbing her hands across his shoulders, down his back and back up through his hair. 

He groans, low in his throat as she runs her fingernails over his scalp. He leans into her touch. 

This is the most intimacy she's ever shared with anyone. 

A nervous lump is forming in her throat as he turns slowly to face her. He looks at her, thanking her silently with his gaze. She merely nods, unsure of what else she's supposed to do. One of his hands cups her cheek, trailing his finger across her lips, before he buries it in her dirty, knotted hair. The other wraps around her waist, pulling her against him as his forehead falls to meet hers. She can feel him.

Hard.

Aroused. 

And then his lips are on hers, solid yet oh-so-soft. Tentative. Hesitant. And, as if she hasn't already forgotten, she forgets where she is. She forgets who _he _is. That she is a prisoner in his home. That he is a Death Eater. A monster. A _beast_. 

But he doesn't feel like a beast. He no longer acts like a monster. 

And so she kisses back. And he deepens the kiss, becoming more demanding and more sure of himself. More desperate. More urgent. 

She gasps as her back hits the cold tiled wall, moans as he lifts her up and wraps her legs around his hips, nearly loses her mind as he presses himself against her. 

He is gentle in his caresses of her skin with his otherwise rough, calloused fingers. He is gentle in the way he nips at her skin with his teeth and massages her breasts with the palms of his hands. She moans, rocking her hips against his, begging him to _touch her_. 

His voice is so quiet when he asks her if she's sure that she almost misses it-but she catches it, and nods desperately. "Please," she begs, her own voice raspy. 

He continues to make love to her against the shower wall. And then again in his bed. He is all gentle touches and loving kisses. Soft strokes and desperate grunts. 

And when she falls asleep in the comfort of his plush bed and the confines of his strong arms, she realizes she's never felt safer.

X

Weeks later. She doesn't know how many weeks it's been since, or how many months it's been in total. At this point, she's beginning to wonder if it even matters. 

She's lying across his mattress, her intimates covered only by his silky sheets, her legs and arms exposed. Clean. He lies opposite her on his side, propped up by his arm with his head near her bare feet.  
>She's watching him. Marveling his perfectly messy bed-hair, his strong build and gentle-almost loving-touches. He's focused intently on drawing shapes on her thigh. He, too, watches the movements of his own fingers. <p>

She wonders, during moments like this, how a man who was so hostile and violent towards her can be so soft and tender. She wonders, if perhaps, he's tricking her. If maybe this is all an act. But for what reason? And besides that, somewhere in her heart, she knows he isn't doing any such thing. It's in his eyes. It's always been in his eyes, she's realized. The truth. 

She wonders, if perhaps, this is love. It probably isn't, she reckons. It's desperation. Need. Lust. Companionship. 

She wonders if it was during any other time, in any other place, if it _could_ be love. But then, it wouldn't exist if it were any other time or any other place, would it? 

[Somehow, she is perfectly content.]

X

Two years ago, following Draco Malfoy blindly through any wooded area (let alone the one near his home), would've set her teeth on edge. She would've cursed herself for being naive and stupid, wondering if she had some sort of death wish. Now, however, she's come to trust him. Now, she isn't sure what she'd do without him. 

She's realized, over the last few weeks, that he's saved her from a fate she doesn't even want to think about. For if he hadn't been the one to take her, she'd be dead. Or worse... He's kept her safe. He's kept her from losing her mind. He's kept her sane. 

"Where are we going?" she asks softly, clutching his left hand with both of hers as she tries not to trip on the rocks and tree roots beneath her feet. 

"You'll see," he murmurs, quickening their pace. 

Moments later she sees two figures in the distance-one tall and lean, one short and thin. She squints, trying to see who they are through the darkness. Her heartbeat quickens and her palms begin to sweat in anticipation and anxiousness. The two figures are walking towards them in the dark, and in a sliver of moonlight shining through the trees, she sees them. Harry and Ron. 

"Oh my God," she whispers. She lets go of Draco's hand and starts to run towards them, tears of relief and happiness stinging her eyes upon seeing their smiling faces. But Draco reaches for her, tugging her backwards and pushing her behind him, his body acting as a shield. 

Draco raises his wand at them, and in response they do the same. She scolds herself inwardly for forgetting the golden rule. "What creature did that mad professor transfigure me into in fourth year?" Draco asks. 

Ron looks smug, folding his arms over his chest. "A ferret, *Ferret*." 

Hermione wastes no time, then, in throwing herself at both of them. Her arms curl around both of their necks and each of theirs wrap tightly around her waist. She wants to cry. She only pulls back to look at Draco, who's standing awkwardly behind her as he tries not to watch, his hands in his pockets. She thanks him silently. He nods, the corners of his lips pulling up into a small smile. 

He nods, then, at Harry and Ron before focusing his gaze on her. "This is where I leave you, Granger." 

She blinks, confused. "W-what? You mean...you're not coming?" 

He shakes his head. 

"What not? You have to come," she protests, stepping into him. She grabs his robes in between her fingers, tugging him closer. "What do you mean you're not coming?" 

"The plan was to get you to safety. To get _you_ out of that house-" 

"But surely you can come to," she argues. 

"I can't-" 

She whips around to face Harry and Ron, "guys, he has to come-" 

"I _can't_ Granger. This whole thing is risky enough without me leaving too," he tells her softly. 

"But if you go back there-and He'll find out that you let me go-" 

He shakes his head once more. "He'll find out that you overpowered me. You've been working on wand less magic for months now, and when I got back from doing his duties, you caught me off guard, knocked me out and fled." 

"He'll never believe that," she protests. 

"He's going to have to. He will." 

"But-" 

"Look, Granger, for once in your bloody life will you just do what you're told to? This is for the best," he whispers. 

She shakes her head, ignoring the years slipping down her cheeks as she feebly tries to plead with him. But his mind is made up. He lifts his right hand to her cheek, caressing it softly with the back of his knuckles. She closes her eyes, leaning into his touch. 

And then his lips are on hers, softly and shyly-because they have company-and just as quickly as they appear, they disappear. His forehead touches hers and she feels his breath on her lips. "Take care of yourself, Granger."

X

The Final Battle is over. 

Voldemort is dead. 

The remaining Death Eaters have been detained my Kingsley and his Ministry. All but two-one, really. 

Hermione is in the middle of a frantic search for the other. After making sure that everyone was okay in the Great Hall, that nobody needed or wanted anything-that the Weasley's were as we'll as they all could be, she took off in hopes of finding him. Draco. 

She'd seen in earlier. Just a flash of his short blond hair was enough. Now, it isn't nearly. 

She races around the now empty corridors, searching desperately for him. She takes the stairs two-by-two and nearly runs straight into four walls. 

The last place she checks is the Astronomy Tower. 

She hears voices-both male. Both similar. Both familiar. She follows the sound, tiptoeing in the shadows, her wand raised just in case she'd need to use it. 

Draco and his father are standing on the balcony, their wands raised and pointing towards one another. 

"She's a Mudblood-" 

"Don't call her that!" Draco growls furiously. 

"What's so special about her? Hmm? Why have you chosen her, over your family?" 

"Because unlike you, she wants what's best for me," Draco tells his father. "All you care about-all you've ever cared about is yourself and your bloody 'Dark Lord' and your fucking blood purity. Her blood is no different than ours, father. No different." 

"You've gone soft, Draco," Lucius sneers. "I raised you better than this." 

"Better for who? You?" the younger Malfoy wonders sarcastically. "You made me into a monster! You made me into the only thing I've ever *hated* more than I so blindly hated muggles: you." 

"What is it about her, that makes you question everything you've ever known, Draco?" 

"Everything," he replies. 

All of a sudden, spells and cursed are flying around, bouncing off walls and rails. From her hidden spot, she covers her mouth with her hands to keep her cries of protest at bay. She watches as Draco gets the upper hand, tackling his own father to ground. He pins him, raising his hand over her head, pointing his wand down at him. 

"Don't make me," Draco all but begs. 

And as Lucius' arm lifts, pointing his own wand at his son, Draco chokes out just two words: Avada Kedavra. 

The rest is but a blur to her memories. 

Draco's arm falling limp by his side as he watches the life disappear from his father's eyes. 

Hermione, running towards the boy-man-sitting on the flier next to his father's lifeless body. 

Throwing herself his lap; thrusting her arms around his neck. 

Him, catching her and pulling her close. 

Whispers of "I love you's."


	4. Peter Pan

**Peter Pan**

_She decides to grow up, to move on. He chooses to remain the same. And he loses her in the process. [Inspired by the relationship between Peter Pan and Wendy.]_

X

They meet at the young, tender age of 11 years old. 

He's a boy. She's a girl. 

He finds her where she always is: the library. She always looks so comfortable, so content and free among her books and the solitude of the shelves that house them – more so than anywhere else in the school. This is where her books – where the stories she likes to read – come to life. This is where she's happiest. And this is where he watches her. Every night, from behind the closest bookcase through a gap between two books. 

She fascinates him. Fascinates him in a way nobody else has ever held his attention before. 

Her frizzy, brown hair. Dark, chocolate eyes. Freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. 

The way she knows every answer to every question. Her confidence. Her passion for knowledge. 

Tonight is the night he's finally going to speak to her. 

His shadow casts itself over her, enveloping her – and her book – in the sudden lack of light. She looks up at him – all pure and innocent – and he smiles. "Hello," he greets her kindly. 

"Hi," she whispers back shyly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. 

"My name's Draco. Draco Malfoy-" 

"I know. Everyone talks about you, you're popular." 

He smirks. 

"I'm Hermione Granger," she says. 

He looks smug. "I know." 

She smiles softly. "Would you like to sit down?" 

"I'd love to," he replies, sitting down in the chair across the table from her. "What are you reading?" 

And just like that they fall into an easy conversation full of playful bickering and care-free giggles.

[Unbeknownst to both of them Draco's best friend, Pansy Parkinson, watches from a distance.]

X

She giggles as he chases her around the courtyard and screams blissfully when he catches her and twirls her around playfully. He laughs, setting her back on her feet. 

Pansy rolls her eyes, sitting back with Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott and a few of the other Slytherins. "Honestly. How pathetic is she?" 

"I like her," Blaise says, taking a large bite of his licorice stick. 

"Yeah, she's not so bad," agrees Theo. 

She glares at them both, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh, what do you two know anyway?"

X

"C'mon, Granger," he says coaxingly, cocking his head to the side. "It's just a broom-" 

"It's not just a broom, it's a death sentence!" she protests. 

He smirks, rolling his eyes as he leans against the book case next to her, broom in hand. "What if I promised you you won't fall?" 

"You can't promise me that." 

"What if I promised you that if you did fall I'd catch you?" 

She sighs, "Draco-" 

"Do you trust me?" 

"Of course I do." 

"Then have a little faith," he grins. 

She looks at him for a moment, her head falling to the side as she smiles, defeated. "Fine. I'll fly with you." 

He grins, leaning down to kiss her cheek softly. "Great, c'mon." 

She giggles as he takes her hand and pulls her excitedly out of the library.

X

He plays a prank on her friends – Potter and Weasley – and for the first time since they became friends, she stops talking to him. She's mad at him, frustrated with him for being an "immature prat". 

Pansy tells him she isn't worth it – that if she really cared about him, she wouldn't accept him just the way he is. But he knows it isn't like that, that Hermione isn't really _that_ mad at him. Only just mad enough – the way a sister would be mad at her brother for ripping the head off her favourite doll; the way a mother might be mad at her child for breaking the rules. 

He approaches her in the corridor outside the Potions classroom but she turns away from him. He groans. "C'mon, you can't still be angry at me." 

"I can. And I am," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"You have to admit though, the look on Weasley's face was priceless," he says smugly. 

She rolls her eyes but is unable to contain the short giggle that escapes her lips. She covers her mouth quickly with her hand before turning back to glare at him. "It a mean prank, Draco. You can be so childish sometimes-" 

"Only sometimes?" he wonders cheekily. 

"I'm serious." 

"So am I – it's what we are, Granger. We're kids. And I personally wish to stay a kid forever and never grow up." 

"That's a silly wish, Draco," she replies softly. "Everyone grows up eventually." 

"Not if I can help it," he says smugly, grinning at her. "Care to join me in staying young forever?"  
>She can't help but smile, the expressions in her face softening for him. "I can try."<p>

X

The end of the year comes all too quickly and the second the train pulls into King's Cross Station Hermione's chest feels tight. She looks across the compartment to see Draco gazing out the window just as she's been. All around them was their friends – Pansy, Theo, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle, Harry and Ron – who are all incredibly excited to be returning home. While Hermione is more or less neutral to the whole thing, Draco looks sort of...disappointed. 

As everyone jumps up to collect their bags, Draco is a lot slower and procrastinating. Hermione joins him. "Aren't you excited to be going home?" 

He shrugs. "Sure. I guess." 

"My parents are taking me on a trip to America next month," she says, smiling excitedly. 

He blinks. "To America? For how long?" 

"Three weeks." 

"That's a long time," he mutters. 

"I know, but it'll be so much fun." 

They're the last ones to get off the train and while everyone else is running around saying goodbye and waving as their friends leave the platform with their parents. Hermione sees hers waving at her and she waves back, grinning from ear to ear. She turns to face Draco, who's gaze has fallen on his own parents. "Well, I guess this goodbye for now-" 

"Not goodbye," he says, shaking his head. "Never say goodbye. Goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting." 

She smiles softly, tilting her head to the side. "See you later, then," she offers. 

He grins. "Yeah. See you later."

[Pansy watches, jealousy coursing through her veins, from where she's standing with her mother and father.]

X

Part way through third year is when Pansy's jealousy gets the better of her. Hermione has been stealing her spotlight – and her best friend – ever since she got here and the Slytherin girl is sick of it. And every time she complains to somebody about it – to Theo or to Blaise or to Crabbe or Goyle – they wave her off like a pesky little fly; telling her she's "over-reacting". 

So she devises a plan. A plan to humiliate the Gryffindor Princess once and for all - and get Draco to see that the pesky little lioness isn't worth his time or his affections. 

And the plan almost works until Draco catches her in the act – and boy, is he livid. 

"Answer me, yes or no," he demands, folding his arms over his chest as he stands protectively in front of Hermione. He glares into the eyes of his cunning and deceitful best friend. "We were trying to humiliate Hermione." 

She sighs, rolling her eyes. "Yes, but-" 

"Why?" he barks. "How could you! What the bloody hell is your problem anyway, what's she ever done to you-" 

"_Done_ to me? You want to know what she's done-" 

"Why do you hate her so much?! She's been nothing but kind and friendly to you." 

"She's trying to-" 

"Stop – shut up," he says, holding up his hand suddenly. She clamps her mouth shut, staring at him in confusion. "I banish you," he whispers. 

"_Banish_?" Pansy asks, wide-eyed. "What does that even mean?" 

"It means that I _never_ want to speak to you again." 

She blinks, flinching as though he's just slapped her. "Wha-" 

"Draco," Hermione gasps, placing her hand on his arm. "Don't do that." 

"And why not?" he huffs. 

"She's your friend. And never is an awfully long time," she says softly. 

He frowns. "Fine. For one week then," he says easily. 

Pansy looks from Draco to Hermione – sweet, innocent, disgustingly kind, Hermione – and sighs. "Very well."

X

She takes a long, deep breath as she stands at the top of the stairs; nobody has yet to notice her and she hasn't yet begun her descend. She's nervous, having never done anything like this before. She fiddles with her fingers before smoothing down the front of her ruffled, periwinkle dress and making sure her curly-haired updo is still in place. And then she takes her first step down the stairs and it's like the motion alone captures everyone's attention - Harry, Ron, Blaise, Theo, Crabbe and Goyle. And Draco. 

Draco grins up at her and steps out ahead of the group to take her hand. 

She smiles back as she reaches the bottom of the stairs and slips her hand into his. 

"You look great, Hermione," he says softly. 

"Thanks," she whispers back shyly. 

"C'mon, the Ball has already started," he murmurs, pulling her towards the Great Hall double doors, their friend trailing behind.

Later than night, after the Great Hall has been mostly cleared out – save for the few straggler couples canoodling at their tables – Hermione drags Draco out through the back door onto secluded grounds, under dark skies and fairy lights. Here, they are hidden from the rest of the world. 

"What are we doing out here?" he asks, chuckling softly. 

"I want to give you something." 

He perks up, his eyebrows raising in excitement. "A gift?" 

"Something like that," she giggles, clasping her hands behind her back. "Close your eyes." 

He blinks, confused for a moment, before doing as he's told, pushing his hands into his pockets. 

She bites her bottom lip nervously as she leans forward slowly. She closes the gap between them and her eyes flutter closed just before her lips come into contact with his. 

He gasps, his eyes snapping open in shock. He sees her eyes closed and feels her soft lips move tentatively against his and his own eyes flutter closed as he responds. 

All too quickly she pulls back and opens her eyes to find his still closed. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips, then, and he breathes a sigh of relief. She watches him quietly as he opens his eyes to look at her.  
>"Um...what was that?" <p>

She smiles shyly, tucking a stray curl behind her ears. "My first kiss," she whispers. 

He blinks, a pink tinge creeping its way up his neck and into his cheeks. "Mine too..."

X

"Where are you taking me?" she giggles, fingering the blindfold over her eyes as he pulls her along behind him. The smell of freshly mown grass and the sound of birds tells her she's outside. 

"You'll see – hey!" he yells, turning to slap her hands away from the blindfold. "That's cheating." 

"How much further? I'm getting impatient." 

"You're always impatient," he chuckles. "We're here-" 

The words are barely spoken and she whips the blindfold off her head. They're at the Black Lake – along with a number of other Fifth Year students just like them. Mostly girls in teeny-tiny bikinis, sunbathing and frolicking in the water. She looks at Draco, who's standing before her in a pair of grey and silver swimming trunks. "I don't have my bathing suit." 

He smirks. "You're a witch, are you not?" 

She smiles, rolling her eyes as she pulls her wand out of her pocket. 

"Draco!" 

They both turn their attention to where the voice had come from – to a group of Slytherin girls in matching green bikinis – waving at him by the water's edge. He waves back, cocking his head to the side with a grin. 

A blond-haired, fair-skinned witch steps forward, her hands on her hips. "Come for a dip, Draco! The water's marvelous," she gushes, completely ignoring the curly-haired Gryffindor. 

Draco nods, turning to face her. "Hurry up, get changed and then join us," he tells her, winking at her before jogging off the group of Slytherins.

X

She laughs at Ron's lame joke before taking a sip of her gin and tonic and glances around the room. Everyone's having a good time so far, which is probably in part due to the unlimited amount of alcohol. It's an InterHouse party in the Room of Requirement – it's Astoria Greengrass' birthday. She's a year below Hermione and her friends, but has turned 16 today; her older sister Daphne is their year as well. 

Her gaze lands on Draco, who's standing across the room with some of the boys from the Quidditch League. He's nursing a glass of alcohol in one hand, his other shoved into the pocket of his trousers. He looks at her then and their gazes lock; she smiles at him, raising her glass in a silent cheers and he does the same. Someone whispers into his ear then – a Ravenclaw boy – and she follows Draco's gaze as it flickers across the room and lands on the birthday girl. 

Hermione's chest tightens as she remembers the rumors she's heard. That Astoria fancies him. 

And then Draco's moving, walking over to talk to her. He says "Happy Birthday" and leans down to kiss her cheek – and her stomach churns – and when he pulls back, Astoria grabs him by his silver and green tie and kisses him hard on the lips – snogs him in front of everyone. 

Everyone around them is cheering and hollering. Everyone but one. 

Hermione blinks back tears, her hand covering her neck as she begins to back away from the crowd of Fifth and Sixth Years. A sob gets stuck in her throat and she bolts, whirling around and then running for the door.

X

Hermione exchanges glances with Draco's latest fallen conquest – a Hufflepuff girl. The girl, dressed in black and yellow robes, glares at her and then shoots daggers through Draco, who seems completely unfazed. It's happened five times now. After Astoria broke up with him over the summer to be with a Muggle bloke, Draco had taken to bedding as many girls as possible and playing with their hearts in the process. 

Hermione sighs as they continue on their way to the library. "You can't keep playing these games with these girls, Draco," she mutters, shaking her head. 

"Games are meant to played, Granger," he drawls, trailing alongside her. 

"Girls' emotions are not meant to played _with_." 

He snorts. "You're blowing it out of proportion-" 

"Am I?" she wonders rhetorically, stopping in her tracks in the middle of the corridor to face him, hands on her hips. "So if, say, McLaggen were to play with _my_ emotions, that would be okay with you?" 

"Of course it wouldn't!" he scoffs. "I'd beat him to a bloody pulp and then hex his bullocks off." 

"Exactly." She narrows her gaze at him as she resumes her trek. 

He sighs, following her. "Look, it's different-" 

"How is it different?" 

"The girls know it's not serious." 

"That doesn't change the fact that you're hurting them, Draco! You're playing games-" 

"And so what? I'm just trying to have _fun_-" 

"You're _always_ trying to have fun." 

"I'm a kid, Hermione. It's what we do." 

She raises her eyebrows, stopping just outside the library doors to face him with her arms crossed over her chest. "You're 17, Draco. You're practically an adult." 

He screws up his face in disgust and shudders dramatically. "Don't say that word, it makes me feel old." 

She sighs. "You can't stay a 'kid' forever. You certainly can't spend the rest of your life breaking girls' hearts." 

"It's not my fault they get overly attached," he says defensively. 

Hermione stares at him for a moment before pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes in frustration. "You're not understanding me-" 

"Maybe you're the one not understanding me," he says stubbornly, folding his arms over his chest. 

"You're right. I don't understand you," she whispers. And then she leaves him alone in the hallway as she disappears with her books.

X

She's on her way to the Great Hall for breakfast when she hears familiar voices from around the corner. Upon peering around the corner into the other corridor, she sees Draco struggling to keep up with Pansy. 

"Pans," he groans, "Pans, c'mon." 

"The only time you want to talk to me is when you need something and I'm sick of it, Draco Malfoy." 

"That's not true and you know it." 

"Do it?" 

He grabs her arm and pulls her around. "You mean the world to me, Pans. You're everything to me." 

She huffs, folding her arms across her chest. "What about Granger?" 

A sad, distant look flashes on his face. "Hermione's...Hermione," he breathes, his voice thick. 

"Do...do you love her?" 

Hermione gasps, pulling herself back and pressing herself against the wall. 

"It doesn't matter," he says.

X

A silver snake pendent hanging from a silver chain dangles in front of her face, drawing her attention away from her book. She looks up, into the guilty, apologetic, captivating eyes of Draco Malfoy and frowns. They haven't talked in days; weeks. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, sitting in the chair across from her. 

She takes the necklace from him. "I'm sorry too. But what's this for?" 

"Think of it as a token, that way I'll always be with you." 

She smiles. 

"So graduation is in a few weeks." 

"Yeah," she breathes, closing her book to give him her full attention. "Excited?" 

"I think we both know the answer to that," he mutters, looking down at the desk separating them.

"Congratulations on the job at St. Mungo's by the way. In the nursery, right?" 

"Thank you, yes," she says happily. 

He licks his lips. "I wish it didn't have to end." 

"But it has to," she whispers, knowing exactly what he's thinking. "We have to grow up, whether we want to or not. Whether we're ready or not." 

"And if we're not?" he questions, gazing up at her. There's a kind of fear swimming in his eyes she's never seen before. 

She shrugs helplessly. "I don't know. I guess that's up to you to find out."

X

Today is the day. Today is the day he's going to lose her; he knows it. He can feel it. She's going to grow up, going to move on. Going to leave him behind. 

The graduation ceremony has come and gone, the parents have come and left and everyone who's just graduated has gone to pack their things one last time. Everyone but one. 

Draco finds his way down to the library, back to where it all began. He doesn't know how long he's been there when he hears her voice. 

"I thought I'd find you here," Hermione whispers. 

He whirls around to face her, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Found me." 

"I got you something," she says, taking his hand and placing something in his palm. 

He looks down at a silver lion pendent on a silver chain identical to the one he gave her a few weeks ago. 

"Consider it a token." 

He smiles, closing his hand over it. "Thank you." 

She smiles back, blinking back tears. "So I guess this is it..." 

"Yeah, I guess so," he mutters. 

"It isn't too late to change your mind, you know," she says hopefully. 

He bites his bottom lip, shaking his head slowly. "I can't, Granger. I just...I cant." 

She looks down at the floor. "And I can't not." 

He reaches for her hand, pushing his fingers gently through the cracks between hers and rubs his thumb over the top of her hand. "Maybe next year." 

"Yeah, maybe." 

He takes a deep breath and lifts her chin with his other hand, his silver necklace still clutched between his fingers and his palm. "This isn't goodbye, right?" 

She smiles, shaking her head. "Never goodbye." 

"You won't forget me?" 

"I promise," she whispers.

And then she's gone.


End file.
